


Oreos at One-Thirty

by distant_rose



Series: Little Pirates [35]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gideon Gold (mentioned) - Freeform, Kids out of Bed, Mama!Emma, Wes being his typical punk self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/pseuds/distant_rose
Summary: It’s the middle of the night and one of Emma Swan’s kids is out of bed. She’s not going to stand for this.





	Oreos at One-Thirty

**Author's Note:**

> Today is the two-year anniversary of the Little Pirates series. That’s right. On August 16th, 2017, I published the first installment of the series By the Hook. It’s insane to me to think I’ve been writing for this series so long and I couldn’t have done it without the amazing support of all my readers. While the first installment focused on Killian and Beth, I decided to celebrate the series by writing about Emma and Wes today. Thank you for everything and a special thank you to @optomisticgirl for constantly letting me spam her about this dumb ass universe. She’s a trooper.

It was 1:30 in the morning when the stairs gave a small whine. It was a faint noise, one that most people wouldn’t notice.

But Emma Swan wasn’t most people.

She had never been the most peaceful of sleepers. The slightest of sounds had the tendency of waking her up, one of the many leftovers from living on the streets and staying in stolen hotel rooms. While a few of her habits from that time had faded, her light-sleeping habits seemed only be more honed with the birth of her children.

She laid there in her bed, ears straining for more movement and her hand automatically reaching for her nightstand where she hid her pistol. She would like to think that no one in Storybrooke would have the balls to attack her family in their home in the middle of the night, but with the number of villains and curses she had dealt with over the past couple of decades, she wasn’t willing to chance it. She glanced over at her husband, debating whether or not she should wake him. He was snoring away, completely unaware of the stirrings in their house, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to rob him of his sleep after some many late-night shifts at the station.

Her decision was made for her when there was another creak from the stairway, one that was only made when someone was putting their weight on the bottom step. She scowled in the dark.

There was no intruder in her house.

Someone was out of bed.

Muttering curses under her breath, she crawled out of the warmth of her own bed. Killian mumbled something in his sleep before shifting in the warm spot she had left behind and grasping at her pillow. If she wasn’t so annoyed with their kids, she would have smiled at the sight.

As she headed down the stairs, blue and white light danced across the walls followed by the faint chiming music of an advertisement for Old Spice. As she got halfway down, the identity of her little miscreant was revealed.

Her twelve-year old son was on her couch, watching television and stuffing not one, not two, not three but four Oreos into his mouth all at once.

“You got to be kidding me!”

Wes jumped at the sound of her voice, tipping over the large glass of milk he had been cradling in his elbow and sending the packet of cookies flying into the air. Emma’s mood only soured as she watched the mess spread across her leather couch and drip onto her brand new and very expensive carpet that she and Killian had bought two days ago.

“Uhhhhh…hi Mom…fancy seeing you here…” He scrambled a bit, looking around frantically for something before grabbing a half-eaten Oreo off the floor and holding it out to her. “Cookie?”

She gave him an unimpressed look, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms in front of her chest as she regarded him. His blue eyes darted between her and the Oreo in his outstretched hand.

“What? Don’t believe in the five-second rule?”

“Westley.”

“I can get you a new cookie. It’s no big deal.”

“Westley Graham.”

“But it would be a total waste of a cookie and you know what Grandma Snow always says — waste not, want not.”

“Kid, it’s two in the morning.”

“Actually, it’s one thirty-two, so you’re—”

“Your bedtime is eight-thirty,” she cut him off, rubbing at her temples as her irritation with him rose.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Really? You do? So, you’re not actually here? You’re upstairs like you were supposed to be for the last six hours and I’m just hallucinating right now? I’m not actually witnessing you out of bed and destroying my furniture?”

“No, I’m here. I did actually go to bed at eight-thirty like you wanted…I just woke up and got bored. It’s not like we have a mandatory wake-up time.”

“You’re supposed stay in bed until six-thirty…” Emma replied through gritted teeth. Wes raised his eyebrows at her, looking disturbingly like Killian whenever he was feeling particularly obstinate.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“When?”

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and mentally counted to ten to keep from screaming. When she looked back at her son, he was watching her with an expression that was caught between wary and amused. She was going to kill him.

“I’m saying it right now. Seriously. Kid, if you don't pick up that mess you’ve made of my living room and get your ass back in bed, so help me, I will tan your hide!"

“I’m pretty sure the law frowns upon child abuse.”

“Oh kid, you’re forgetting one teeny tiny detail, I _am_ the law. Get some paper towels. Now.”

Catching her thunderous expression, Wes scrambled off the couch and headed into the kitchen. She was mildly impressed with how fast he was able to move on those skinny toothpick legs of his.

Emma let out a sigh, trying not to think about the ruined rug. Everything in her house was in a state of disrepair. The coffee table had watermarks on it. The couch had been broken more times than she could count. Even the television had small dents and scratches on the screen from the time Beth and Neddy had a lightsaber match that had gotten out of hand. What difference did it make that the brand new rug now had stains on it?

While waiting for her son to come back with paper towels, she went to work picking up the leftover Oreo crumbles on the couch. She deposited them in the empty side of the plastic container before sitting down on the dry side of the couch and turning her attention to the television. Her interest piqued as _Dataline_ crossed the screen, detailing the disappearance of a young woman from Texas.

“They think her boyfriend did it,” Wes commented as he returned.

“What?”

“Christina Morris,” he replied, nodding his head towards the television. “They think her boyfriend kidnapped her. They’re not sure if he killed her or if he took her in Mexico or something.”

“Grim,” Emma remarked absently, picking up the last Oreo and biting it.

“Totally.”

“What the hell are you doing watching this in the middle of the night? You’re going to get nightmares from this stuff.”

“As if I don’t already have nightmares anyway,” he replied, not looking at her as he went about cleaning up the spilled milk.

Her anger and irritation melted away at his words, giving away to concern. She patted the place beside her. Wes hesitated, looking conflicted as he placed the soiled paper towels on the coffee table.

“Come here.”

He climbed onto the couch, placing some space between them. Emma was having none of it, pulling him by the shoulders and guiding his head into her lap like she often did when he was a much smaller boy and afraid of the dark. She brushed her fingers through his thick blond hair, frowning as she looked down at him.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s got you so shaken up?”

“It’s just…” He trailed off, averting his eyes and swallowing his words.

“Wes…It’s better to talk about it.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m your mom, kid. I wiped your bottom when you were baby. Nothing gets more embarrassing than that.”

“Mom, c’mon,” he whined, turning on his side and pressing his face into her stomach. She didn’t press him any further. Even when he was a baby, he had never responded well to being pushed into things. He had inherited both her and Killian’s stubbornness in tenfold. Getting him to do anything when he was a toddler had been absolute nightmare and he had only gotten slightly better in age, replacing tantrums with a defiant look and firmly stated “no.” 

So, she did what she felt was best in these type of situations. She waited for him to open up to her, continuing to run stroke his hair and watched what was left of the _Dataline_ episode on her TV screen.  They were showing interviews with Christina’s suspect boyfriend before Wes mumbled something against her clothed belly, his breath warming the fabric.

“What was that?” she asked, pausing her ministrations.

“Clowns.”

“Clown?”

“Clowns,” he repeated. “You know like killer clowns. Like in that movie, you know, _It?_ ”

Emma shuddered. She remembered the Stephen King novel vividly. She had read it back in when she was in prison and had nothing but time on her hands. It had given her nightmares as well.  She was aware it had been turned into a movie a couple of times, but horror movies had never been her thing and she had little desire to actually watch it. She had found the story to be disturbing at eighteen, she couldn’t imagine how terrifying it was to a twelve-year old. He shouldn't be watching or reading things like that.

“Wait a minute,” she frowned, coming to a realization. “How do you know about _It_?”

“Henry!” Wes replied a little too quickly.

“You, Westley Graham Jones, are a liar and a terrible one at that,” Emma said pointedly, giving him a tired glare. “One, Henry hates horror movies... and possibly killer clowns more than you do. Two, he would never in a million years let you watch something like that. So, tell me the truth this time.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Just promise me you won’t get mad?”

“I’m making no such promises. Seriously, Wes. The truth.”

He let out a heavy dramatic sigh. He was becoming more and more moody as he had gotten older. He was going to be a nightmare teenager. Emma was sure of it.

“Gideon and I snuck into a showing of it during Halloween. He said if I didn’t it would be because I’m scared, and I’m not scared of anything—”

“Except clowns,” Emma cut him off. “Wes, that’s an R rated movie. Gideon is fourteen and even he’s not old enough to watch those kinds of movies. You certainly aren’t. There are ratings on things for a reason.”

“It’s just a movie,” he scowled at her.

“Yeah. A movie that scared you badly enough that you’re having nightmares and are up at all hours of the night feasting on Oreos,” she replied, looking at the demolished empty container. “Your father is going to kill you. His sweet tooth is almost as bad as yours.”

“So? You can just buy more.”

“You think money grows on trees, don’t you?” she asked, unimpressed with his answer.

“Well, money is made from paper and paper comes trees so there’s that.”

“Smart ass kid.”

“Better than being a dumb ass.”

“God, you’re so my kid it hurts sometimes,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

He was staring up at her with that impish little grin that seemed to have permanent residence on his face since the time he could walk. He was a good kid though, even if he did sometimes eat all the Oreos and wake her up at all hours of the night. Out of her five children, Wes was the most like her; a little rough around the edges and sometimes a little too smart with his mouth, but he was never malicious. He was just a little too defensive and wanting to prove to be people he was tough. She had been the same at his age.

She wanted to soften those edges. Hers had been bore out of a need to survive; they had been necessary to endure group homes, bullies, being homeless, being in prison and then later as the Savior. Wes didn’t need them. Nothing was going to happen to him, not while she was still breathing.

“You know it’s okay to be scared right?” she asked after a moment.

“What?”

“Being scared of things. It’s normal.”

He scoffed at her words. “You’re not scared of anything.”

“That’s not true,” she sighed. “Want to know a little secret?”

He nodded wordlessly in response.

“I get scared a lot,” she admitted. “I get scared all the time of things – villains, bills, that I’m not being a good mom—”

“But you’re the best!” Wes protested, cutting her off.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, let me finish,” she responded gently. “The point is sometimes I get scared, but the important thing is to not let it control you. Sometimes fear is a healthy thing, but it shouldn’t paralyze you and stop you from doing things…Do you understand me?”

“Yeah…I guess…” He looked unsure.

“Do you know what makes me feel better when I’m scared…Knowing that I have your dad…and Henry…and your grandparents…and even Regina...I just know that having them in my life makes me stronger and that I’m not alone…and you know what, kid? You’re not alone either…you have all of us and even your brothers and sister.”

“I’m not trusting Neddy to fight off bad guys. He’s barely toilet trained.”

“Oh, stop, he’s fine. A little accident here and there isn’t bad. Give him a break.”

“He peed on my bed, Mom.”

“Like I said accidents happen. He’s not gonna be little forever. He might be even bigger than you and Har someday.”

“Yeah right,” he scoffed.

“All kidding aside, it’s okay to get scared but you can’t let it control you and your sleep schedule…”

“I know, I just…I’m not ready to go back to sleep yet.”

“And that’s okay…We can stay down here for a little bit and watch some TV but not all night, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, batting his forehead against her hand. She chuckled quietly to herself as she resumed stroking his hair. He reminded her a bit of the stray dog she used to feed back when she was in Boston, starved for food and attention.

A new episode of _Dateline_ started, and Emma watched it half-heartedly. Her attention was more focused on the droopy-eyed boy in her lap. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier as the minutes passed. He was asleep a good few minutes into the episode. She debated quietly whether or not she should wake him so he could sleep properly in his bed but loathed the idea of waking him up again.

She placed a brief kiss on his forehead before gingerly removing his head from her lap and placing a decorative pillow underneath it. She picked up one of the various throw blankets that were strewn carelessly across the floor and tucked him in. She left the television on, wanting to give him some source of light just in case Pennywise the Clown haunted his dreams again and woke him up. It was one of the few things she craved when she awoke from nightmares, being able to see her surroundings and make sure she was safe. She could only imagine that he might desire the same thing.

As she slipped back into bed, Killian wrapped an arm around her waist. He pulled her close and nuzzled his nose against her neck.

“You’re back,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you’re awake.”

“You really think I was going to sleep without you in our bed, love?”

“Well…with the way you were snoring…”

“Hey now,” he muttered in mock offense, nudging her foot with his. “Wes back in bed?”

“You know it was him?”

“Educated guess really. He’s our biggest night owl.”

“He had a nightmare. He and Gideon have been sneaking into R rated movies.”

“We’re going to have to watch him. If anyone is going to be throwing secret keggers, it’s going to be him,” Killian commented.

“Probably, but let’s worry about that when he’s a teenager and not at two in the morning. Right now, I just want to go sleep.”

“Alright, love,” he chuckled before placing a kiss behind her ear. “Pleasant dreams.”

“Yeah, no clowns hopefully."


End file.
